


The Redemption of Mildred

by Quiet_Moonlight



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games)
Genre: And by that i mean its my self insert story, Baby's First Fanfic, Canon Divergence, Canon Typical Violence, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, This was not ment for human eyes but i want to see if its not as bad as i think, Woman with masculine name, cannibalism mentioned, its also super self indugent bc i love Mildred, redemption arc, there is/will be some violence but nothing gruesome, this is highkey headcanon territory, this was written for lesbians by lesbians, woman using he/him pronouns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-05-18 21:05:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19342615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quiet_Moonlight/pseuds/Quiet_Moonlight
Summary: Maneater Mildred is a heartless killer who eats her own kind without remorse. But she was not always the person she is today. Can this long forgotten part of her be revived with the help of a single kind undead knightess?





	1. History and the Hunteress

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking the leap of faith to click on this. I hope it is as enjoyable as it is cringey. This was posted at 2Am, and no I did not proof read this. (But I may revise it in the future)
> 
> Update: all four chapters have been revised, adding well over 800 words over all! A kudos or even a comment would be really appreciated! Thanks :D

Sunlight scarcely reached into the depths of Blighttown leaving it's marshy earth freezing and festering along with it's long forsaken residents. Jagged and rotting wooden structures loosely clung to the eroded cliffside bathed in eternal twilight. Haplessly placed planks groaned and swayed under each grotesque figure it supported. 

Nary a light bringing traveler braved the sickly grounds but when an adventurer bright with hope so foolishly did their light was quickly extinguished. The only fates awaiting them was to hollow: cold, alone, and torn to shreds or to sercom to the poisonous darts shot from what felt like every direction. If the monsters didnt kill them then a stumble over the edge or the swamp's very on sickly poisons surely would.

For Blighttown humanity was a foreign concept: disease fueled mutation stole the human forms of most who live there. Their bodies stretched in gruesome ways, minds lost in the process. Others lost theirs from once desperate cannibalism. A conscience stricken self preservation morphed into an insatiable greed for flesh.

Fear had turned to panic and then to hopelessness as years ago disease washed over the rickety mining town. As the kingdom's reassurance that a cure would be found for the suffering townspeople dwindled and the disease progressed from a few sick miners into a local epidemic. People from the burg above grew paranoid, some even fled in fear. The kingdom faced a grim decision as they realized the town might be entirely forfeite. Their choice was between losing a large amount of titanite and the possible discovery of the legendary slabs or risk losing more of their people to the disease. 

In the end towering iron doors were constructed to seal away the plague and subsequently sealing the local's fate. Iron gates where stationed in front of the doors and in the Valley of the Drakes for extra measure. The drakes nesting in the valley where pardoned from the wrath of the dragon slayers in order to act as gaurd dogs but a silver knight watched over the elevator for extra precaution. 

The town's miners had been first to be exposed to the blight and so first they fell to it, in their footsteps the rest of the town crumpled. Luckily the blight's spread has slowed to a crawl, but this was unfortunately due to the fact that everyone still trapped had already been infected. Now with the town's past control weakened firey roatches crawled from Quelaag's domain and infested the lower levels. 

In a cruel twist of fate a handful found themselves immune. They cowered fearfully from the mindless creatures that had once been friends and family. Many crowded around the cold iron doors, begging that they be opened. But their pleas fell unheard. Although several other escape attempts were made in the Valley of the Drakes they were all but not. Failing to either to the hungry drakes or the locked tower.

With the outside world blocked out the town's only food source was too. In a final act of desperation the few surviving relatively healthy residents turned on each other. Morals were over ridden by starvation and horror. The humanity of these people was corroded until a cult-like group had formed. All survivors who apposed this cult were eaten until none remained. Now they worked together to feast on the unlucky undead who stumbled their way in the ruined town.  
On this particularly fateful day a light could be seen picking his way through the lower portion of Blighttown.

Hindered only by a slight limp Michael's descent into the fetid swamp was skillfully cautious. Wielding a pyromancer's flame and a dragon tail sword he did his best to take his time dispatching the mutated inhabitants. With each footstep the wood groaned as though it could break any moment. Regardless, the undead's caution was paired with a strange recklessness, one that comes from the boredom of repeation. Hiding around corners and bends until his foe was within range then charging forward, blade leading the way. Through the previous failures to navigate the terrain he had memorized the locations of nearly every enemy. Even with his painfully memorized knowledge of the area he was oblivious to one thing, the hungry eyes tracking him.

Watching and waiting she stalked the ignorant warrior from afar as he approached the bonfire safehavean. A built up immunity to the poisons of the mud allowed her to submerge herself within it, or to create a poisonous defensive coating through she rarely used this. Maneater Mildred studied her prey eyeing how his beaten and cobbled together armor rested on his small figure, held there only by a web of leather straps. The other swamp beasts gave her a wide birth as she silently inched toward the other undead. Even the roaches knew to strength she possessed. Just when the weary knight was plopping down next to the bonfire feeling safe at last and dropping his gaurd the maneater saw her opening.


	2. Confrontation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey yall ready for another 2am unproof read update? This time we have a long drawn out fight scene! And the discovery that I cant mention blood or start a sentence with a word other than "The". As always I'll proof read and edit it later :3  
> Update: holy smokes I sincerely apologize for making yall read the un proofread version. It's all fixed now but geez 2am does stuff to your brain.

Solid stone was a welcomed feeling and the warmth of the bonfire soothed the freezing ache of the undead's body which had seeped in from the muddy swamp waters. Dropping his gaurd, knightess released his weapons and sheild from his tired grip. They fell to the floor at either side of him with an echoing clang, then he laid face first on the damp brick floor. He breathed a slow breath of relief, letting his eyes close, not caring how disgusting the slimy ground might be. 

Silence was a similarly welcomed sensation. For once his ears weren't ringing, he could hear his own breathing and even his own steady heartbeat. The lack of sound almost made his ears ache with emptyness. Rather than the clanging of metal and scraping claws he instead heard the drip drop of water echoing from farther in the tunnel and a large swamp creature sloshing aggressively closer in the distance...

Wait, the large swamp creature sloshing aggressively closer in the distance? Michael's eyes snapped open in dazed confusion, the moment of tranquility quickly being shattered as he heard what was emerging from the bog before he saw it. He squinted into the distance as it took him a few seconds to comprehend the muddy hulking figure storming toward where he lay. As the situation sunk in his expression contorted with panic and he scrambled to push himself off the ground and grab his sword and sheild.

Mildred was pushing through the thick bog water surprisingly fast, especially compared to the other creatures of Blighttown. Michael didn't even have enough time to get to his feet by the time she arrived. He weakly held his sheild and franticly scooted backwards pushing himself deeper into the tunnel with his legs, his sword was on his lap with the other hand trying to get an acceptable grip on its hilt.

She took this opportunity to make her first move, taking hold of the butcher knife's flat edge with her sheild hand and swiftly bringing down upon Michael. Like a knife through hot butter her weapon sliced through its ill-aimed target. He screeched at his extended leg as a chunk of his boot sole was shredded. But with the time it took for Mildred to recover hed managed to stumble into a standing position as. The taller woman swung again with more grace but her opponent managed to duck beneath her blade and riposte with a powerful slash. 

This barely staggered her but it allowed him to attempt another strike. Which failed as the blade struck her plank sheild with full force, although the danp wood chipped Mildred remained relatively unharmed. The recoil of the sword bounding back from the wood dazed the chosen undead. A deep growl rumbled from the maneater as she retaliated with a heavy kick, using the her full force of her body to propel her confused combatant several feet back. Slick earth was unforgiving and gave no traction against his cut boot sole and he slid to the edge of the pit at the end of the tunnel. After regaining his posture the swordswoman prepared a high slash. 

A horrendous tearing sound was heard in the brief silence. The butcher became enraged as the blade ripped a hole in the woven sack that guarded her face. Flecks of dried mud and blood disturbed by the rip fluttered in the air. A moment of tense shock was held between the two as they comprehended what he had done. The tightly woven air was cut as Mildred unleashed a deafening roar and swung her knife back handed. It connected with his chest, succeeding in forcing him to tumble into the hole.

Hard pavement met the falling warrior's back knocking the wind from his lungs the thud produced from the impact echoed throughout the man made cave. His weapons escaped his hold and evaded his reach with a piercing clatter. The world spun for a moment as he gasped for air. The world immediately stilled when Mildred leapt down next to him intimately.

The next few seconds simultaneously felt as though they lasted for years and a single heart beat. Mildred raised her oversized knife above her head for a final time. The blade's rusted edge caught light from an unknown source and gleamed a reddish hue. Michael flipped onto his knees then rose to his feet with swift intent. Whether or not he ment to press himself to the wall was unknown but it provided support. He grimiced and clamped his eyelids shut preparing himself for another brutal death.

In a blinding flash the flow of time repaired itself just as suddenly as it had broken. Michael cautiously opened his eyes startled to find himself in the same place has when he had closed them. But to his shock his left hand had grabbed a firm hold of Mildred's wrist. Still glinting, her knife was stuck in midair seemingly unable, or unwilling, to push past the force opposing it. 

His brown eyes met with her wild green eyes. Though both of them held surprise there was something intense in Mildred's he couldn't quite describe but something in them had shifted. A hush fell over the two women and for a just a peaceful minute they caught their breaths. He watched as her eyes darted around his face, curious almost as though she was seeing something she'd never seen before. Her glare weakened and she hezitantly stepped back. 

Equally perplexed Micheal released her wrist, his arm still following her movements, and slumped against the wall. Mildred took another slow awkward step away from him. Although he would be an easy kill, exhausted and defenseless, she didnt go for the kill. Instead she silently looked away as her glowing red outline faded and she vanished without a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so that's all the fic I had planned tbh. I didnt think I'd ever write this so I did make up a conclusion. I dont think this will be a slow burn but for pacing purposes do expect another chapter or two. In all honestly if you have any ideas as to where I should go with this fic I'd be happy to hear them!


	3. Remembrance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a little shorter than the last one bc it was split into two chapters. This was posted at 4pm so it wont be hot garbage.  
> Anyway this chapter was brought to you by https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=ERsI3twlu34 so prepare for some super ooc stuff bc hey we all need to cry sometimes.

Thunder roared through out the Blighttown valley rickoshaying between the stone wall and the cliff that Blighttown clung to. Dart-like droplets pelted the poisonous mud and stung the flesh upon impact. Lightning flashed overhead, but never allowing its searing energy to fall into the sodden valley. The great tree who's monsterous branches rose to combat the waring sky offered little protection. Its leaves had wilted many decades ago, preceding even the blight. Many of the gorge's creatures had hunkered down into the mud or crammed themselves in some dark corner. 

Huddled beneath a rotting root, but protected from the rain none the less, sat a grumbling Mildred. The space underneath the tree was already small and with her knife and plank sheild taking up a generous portion it became an uncomfortable squeeze. Rain occasionally splashed oversaturated mud onto her legs. Everytime the wind rushed through the goosebumps rose from her skin. 

Despite the circumstances she was not ready to return to her cult's main hub. Returning from an invasion empty handed was heavily looked down upon. The bizarre events of her last fight also left her with a sense of unease. So she stared out at the flooded marsh through the tear in her sack and murmured as she thought.

The chosen undead was long gone by now, she was sure of it, however she couldn't stop thinking about their battle. She was impressed by his ability to hold his own against her, few rarely could, let alone land several blows on her. But this was not the target of her thoughts. Her mind was caught up in the final moments of their battle. It had all happened so fast it was like a smudge in her memory.

She brushed a calloused hand over the place on her wrist where his had caught. Her gaze was quizzical and perplexed. It had been so long since someone had touched her, the cult being extremely hostile and touch adversive. Now at times her skin ached as if his delicate yet warm and powerful hand was still clinging on. In some way she found herself holding onto the oddly comforting sensation and it tore at her inside.

After all her years of cruelty reigning over Blighttown a single touch has her failing to her knees and yearning more. Every glance or brush of the hand over that spot on her wrist was like a match striking against its box. This spark finds something within her, it finds purchase as she begins to think about the time before she had earned her name as the Maneater.

Memories from that long ago feel dark and blurry. Almost as though she had fallen face first into the mud and neglected to wipe it off. Through the fog of time she could see Blighttown in its prime, before it had been called such. The wooden catwalks and walkways were new and bright, crackling torches and sturdy handrails lined the well maintained pathways. Houses that no longer existed stood proud with freshly painted details and the air, while still dirty from the mines, wafted with the scents of cooking fires.

Looking back almost felt like watching a whole other person in a whole other world. Mildred was a gentler person then as well. Her face was obscured by a curtain of short thick black hair, her hands were calloused from work, while that fact was not much different from nowadays, she was clean of the filth that runs throughout the nlw ruined town. Her clothes, a simple brown tunic with tan pants and undershirt, were dusty and comfortably worn in. Although she had her usual brutish tendencies, no suprise given her natural strength and size, they came in handy with her line of work.

Here is where memories faltered. Her deep green eyes flashed around the ruins above as she hopelessly tried to remember what her job was. Now that she though of it, what house had she lived in, or what exactly happened to her family. Did she even have one? 

Panic and loss washed over like a rogue wave crashing onto an unassuming beach her as buried emotions began to well up. Her breathing quickened as it was sucked between the teeth of her stiff and shaking jaw. Salty tears filled her eyes, they burned and threatened to fall. Her arms held tight to her shoulders and pressed down on her chest.

A sharp gust of rancid wind brought her back to the present. Her breathing calmed slightly, though she was immune to the smell the cold sunk its teeth into the exposed skin that tree didn't protect. Her distant stare lowered and she released her chest and drew her legs in now wrapping her arms around them instead, shivering ever so slightly. 

Never since the fall of Blighttown had she felt it but now Mildred saw the lonlyness that encompassed her. Tears finaly spilled over, sliding down her cheeks and dropping into her knees. As she waited for the raging storm to pass she continued to grasp at faded memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bc this chapter was split I've already started on the next one, so with luck it will be finished soon. This might really become the slow burn fic that nobody asked for. Idk how many chapters I'll need to end this but it looks like 2 is the minimum :P


	4. Cold water contemplation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took longer than expected oops... anyway heres our lovely lady Micheal's perspective, he seems to be handling this better. if you cant tell by how this chapter was written I'm definitely getting more comfortable posing my writing. Also I know it's called the crimson waistcoat but let's be real: it's a skirt. Final note, I genetically cannot blush so hopefully my depiction of it is accurate ajdgskd

High above Blighttown the rain fell gentler but in droves. The cave exit into the Valley of the Drakes offered a fair amount of shelter as Michael steeled himself. While the tunnel did provide moderate protection it was perpetually damp and the thought of his slain foes reviving themselves or a less than friendly undead stumbling upon him while he slept made him anxious. 

Now the only thing standing between him and the dry safety of New Londo was a small bridge. A drenched, decaying, and ill constructed sham of a bridge. Ignorant of the desperate conditions of its creation he cursed the very tree it was wrought from. With his courage finally gathered he vigilantly crossed. He sidled against the soaked cliff and walked across the bridge with slow form steps. Rain relentlessly seeped into the crimson skirt he had discovered on his way up. 

Sure it was stronger than chain maille but the seemingly gallons that poured out of the fabric as he wrung it out almost didn't seem worth it. Atleast he didnt have to worry about it rusting unlike the rest of his armor.

Once inside New Londo Michael gave up on his soaked armor and resolved to make camp there until the storm cleared. Firelink shrine was objectively safer but he winced at the thought of sharing the only suitable shelter with Petrus. Feeling rather safe noe surrounded by peacful hollows he changed into his more comfortable civil outfit, though civil was a relevant term as its was a long gambeson and some worn out black pants. Is soaked armor was layed in a flat area to dry, he'd worry about rust later. With his armor now drying he found a tucked away corner to relax in and reviewed his journey.

It wasnt long before his mind drifted to his battle with Mildred. At first he chided himself for letting his guard down so quickly but his humiliation forced him to mentally replay the fight. Now that he wasn't fighting for his life Michael could focus on the way Mildred fought. His intention was to review his opponent's style and improve his own style. However his thoughts betrayed him as his mind's eye zoned in on her powerful arms: the ease at which they swung her knife, the way her hand gripped the handle, the smooth blocking movement of her sheild weilding arm. Every second, every flex was picked at.

He did not realize it yet but his heart was beginning to beat a little faster. The memory fast forwarded to when he'd grabbed her arm. How he managed to even catch her was beyond him. For all her strength Mildred felt soft and yeilding in his grasp, the intensity of the swing dissolved in seconds. And how could Micheal forget those eyes, those daunting green eyes, they boar into him even in memory. His mind dips into pondering what was behind them. What kind of person was Mildred really. Was she as terrifying as her first impression? Or was she secretly soft hearted like the protagonists of his favored novels?

But his train of thought came to a grinding halt as he realised how absurd he sounded and how hot his face was, by the sun he must have been as red as his skirt! He quietly yelled at himself and curled up, pressing against the cold walls though he could not feel it through his coat.

Peeking between his fingers he looked around sheepishly. Still only hopelessly hollows murmured nearby and there was no way for Rickert to have seen or heard him. He exhaled slowly regaining control of his breathing, again listening to his heart beating and the steady beat of Rickert's blacksmithing. The thick padded gambeson felt like a miniature sauna and his embarrassment on furthered that feeling. He silently tiptoed as best he could down to the boardwalk leading to the New Londo ruins.

The dark water lapped at the weathered cobblestone, aside from the groans of the hollows and the tinkering of Rickert it was the only sound. The gash in the wall containing the ruins offered the lazy waves a single beam of light that had forced it's way through the strom. Beyond the cracked wall the thunder had subsided leaving behind only the pitter patter of large raindrops.

Micheal plopped down on a ledge between two spaced out hollows. He took off his books, noting the sizable chunk that was missing, rolled up his pant legs and dipped his feet into the crisp water. It engulfed his burning legs making him cringe and shiver but he quickly adapted. His skin cooled and his physical heart regained its usual pace. He peered down at the watery abyss, his warped reflection stared back. With another deep breath the chosen undead contemplated his feelings, wondering what in Gwyn's name was he to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so this may actually end next chapter,, the dark souls tag will be free of my nasty grip! For now that is >:^) . Depending on what yall think I might make a sequel to this that explores more of Mildred's redemption as well as her relationship with Michael


	5. A Great Big Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, I ran out of motivation. But here we have it, the end! I had fun writing this chapter. It's got a lot of yearning and Micheal is a himbo, but a women, so a wumbo.

The journey to and from the Undead Asylum was rather bizarre but successful directed Michael's mind away from the events of Blighttown. How could he think about such things when he had to fight slipping from the talons of the giant raven on the way and nearly falling to his death again upon entering the asylum as the floor literally fell out from under him. Being attacked by Oscar was certainly disheartening but the beautifully ornate crest sheild he received as a reward nearly made up for it. Of course the encounter with the black knight guarding his old cell was strange and the wooden doll he discovered resting in said cell brought forth more questions than answers. He lamented the hollows that previously littered the ruins, his favorite had been the one sitting in the water, before finally embarking on his return.

 

The rain from the day prior had cleared up, though the sky was still smothered by thick clouds. But air around Blighttown was contaminated with a tension that had been building since before the blight. Now, as Michael held his breath and peered down at the saturated swamp from the rickety bridge, it felt suffocating. As he leaned over the side of the walkway he practically had to hold his nose to avoid gagging. The pummelling from the storm churned the festering waters and freed its rancid scent to roam the air.

 

From this vantage point he planned out his path to Quelaag's Domain in advance. Without further hesitation he picks his way down to the tunnel bonfire traversing the same paths he had when ascending. Since most of the creatures when positioned to prevent others from escaping the swamp he was able to sneak attack them, his only real adversary was avoiding gagging to death. 

 

He makes it to the bonfire none the less, but he cant help the eerie feeling it stirs up. It isn't exactly fear but it isn't a pleasant feeling either, almost a sense of regret or embarrassment. After a short rest here he dawns his most poison resistant outfit, equips his new rusted ring, and begins his trek across the swamp. He takes the long road following along row of raised mounds but manages to avoid most of the poison, the only exception being when he ran across the opening to a small inlet housing two boulder wielding monsters.

 

Now the webby entrance to Quelaag's Domain looms ahead of him. As he approaches he studies the sharp roots that protrude violently from the dirt. If there is actually dirt hiding underneath layers of sticky webs. The air down inside the mound was free of the swamp's toxicity but was considerably warmer giving the air a sticky quality. 

 

The nearby fog gate produces strange and haunting sounds but prompts Michael to scan the area for summon signs. Not but a few feet from the gate shone a brilliant yet scribbled name. Excitement fills his footsteps as he skips over to summon his new ally but his excitement stops cold as he reads the name. "Maneater Mildred". 

 

Fighting a powerful demon with a team is a great feat, fighting a powerful demon witch alone is nigh impossible. Michael shivers at the though but debates the idea of fighting Quelaag with the woman you just tried to kill him. How could he know this wasn't another attempt on his life? He briefly remembered his costly immortality with a concerned shrug. There was only one way to find out.

 

He gently rested his calloused hand on the glowing sign and waited a moment for her image to fade in. Once it had he stepped back moving that hand to the hilt of his sword. First it was just the outline then her whole body came into view, finally that form was filled with conciousness. Now Michael could clearly see Mildred: tall, strong, and sturdy. She looked cleaner as well and her phantom form gave her a pleasant glow while still retaining her powerful appearance. She held her iconic weapons at her side and Michael caught himself staring at her arms.

 

He held his breath as she familiarized herself with the area. Finally her eyes rested on the short woman before her, the torn sack finally allowing her to see the entirety of her ally. His outfit was a gaudy mess of chainmaille and mud caked cloth. His face was soft but in dire need of washing. The small stature hiding beneath said mess only made him look as though a strong wind could sweep him away. But somehow she was drawn to him.

 

Tense eye contact was made once more, both evaluating each other's intentions but was broken as Micheal nodded toward the fog gate. Mildred's gaze followed as he walked toward it and pushed through to the other side.

 

What awaited the pair was a giant hallow in the earth coated wall to wall in dusty webbing. A crumbling stone structure rested at the other end, a faint tiled path lead to it. The some had once been a smooth oval but now the walls and ceiling were warped by still egg sacks. The only sign that the soon to be battle arena was eathen was the floor, whose cobweds had been worn away by battle. Mildred could only hear her own breathing but she knew Quelaag was lurking. The demon war that had started in these depths was framed as a partial cause of the blight and the demons used the human's weakness as a means of spreading. Now with her memories returning Mildred could finally face the witch and avenge her town.

 

It wasn't long before the fiery woman stomping into view, making a grand show of power along the way. Micheal drew his blade unleashed the loudest yell he could muster. Out of the corner of his eye he watched as Mildred bashed her sheild with her cleaver and let out an intimating roar. As they leapt into action he was relieved that Mildred was on his side.

 

~~~~~~~

 

A final nightmarish scream was thrust from Quelaag's demonic throat. Her body dissolved into smokey ashes rippling from where the finishing blow had struck. The silence erupting in its wake was equally deafening. Michael's heartbeat echoed in his ears, his eyes darting around the room for any trace of the chaos witch. Alas, there was none, even her ashes had dispersed into nothing, he was alone now surrounded by cobwebs and dead egg sacks.

 

Movement flickered at the edge of his vision. The misty phantom of Mildred was standing several feet away from him as she had been on the opposite side of the witch. Her head was angled downwards, staring at nothing in particular. Tired arms held her knife and sheild limply at her sides has her chest heaved, chasing after breath like Michael's. She lifted her head thoughtfully, her striking eyes meeting with his unhindered by the sack.

 

Oh lord she was approaching him. Her long strides were not as confident as they had been when she attacked him but instinctively Michael shuffled backwards. His heart raced again but it's thundering was different then it had been the minute before. Suddenly she stopped.

 

Mildred towered over Michael, now only inches apart. She too felt her heart thumbing in her chest with a thrall that battle could not bring. A distant echo of a memory reassured her of its intentions. Partially obscured by the worn sack her expression softened, her gaze no longer so piercing. Somewhere between here and there her weapons had been left behind. Now her empty arms trembled ever so slightly with exhaustion and nervousness. 

 

Mildred feared Micheal's impending reaction. He had sparked something within her and through it she had been able to see the humanity that still clung to her soul. Yet he likely still saw her as a swamp monster that hunted her own kin for sport. She feared that this, her help and her vulnerability, would not be enough to change his mind. But here she could either give in to anxiety and never know or power through to the end.

 

Michael's brown eyes, washed with unease, now burned into her as she brought her arms around his body. She bent over to his height slightly and her hands rested on his back, gently pulling him closer. Her heart wavered, fearing the worst when his body tensed and his breath was held. She had already begun to regret every life decision she had ever made when he suddenly relaxed in her arms. With a careful shakey motion he brought his arms around her. 

 

Awkwardly he gave her a gentle pat and she swayed side to side in return. If a simple grasp had made her ache then this was intoxicatingly searing. Once again tears returned to her eyes, though none threatened to fall. Another silent moment passed before they let go. 

 

Now it was Mildred's turn to shuffle backwards, averting her venerable eyes from Michael. But when she looks back she finds that he too is misty eyed, his lips curved in a shy smile. Naturally, for the first time in many years, she smiles back. And with this her phantom fades away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its finally over, wasn't the worst thing you've read right? Now this won't loom over my consciousness any longer. Thank you for powering through with me and don't be afraid to leave a comment :D  
> Also the chapter title is a reference to that really crappy Hunchback of Notre Dame playstation game


End file.
